


Sweet solace (in your arms I writhe)

by Coquette



Series: Guns and Drink: Rain or Shine [2]
Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Nero is a cool bastard, there is finally some sleeping together, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coquette/pseuds/Coquette
Summary: Angelo has a crazy epiphany. It's pretty dumb to realize it at such a stage but the cards have been dealt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist the sweet allure of my little ducklings. That said, I probably won't post much for this fandom unless there is some interest. Meanwhile have some more AngeloNero interaction.
> 
> Nero's a little calculating in this one.
> 
> It's really short but making it longer felt like I'd be ruining the effect. I hope you get the full dose. 
> 
> Without further ado

Angelo shuts the door behind him. He crosses over to the table, shrugging out of his coat. His eyes fall on the nearly full decanter of whiskey and a bitter curl tugs at the corner of his mouth.

  
Drowning his sorrows in a bottle of jack seems so very appetizing right about now. 

  
Sighing he pours himself a glass and then, after a moment of consideration, pours another.

  
Then he stands up straight and after another thoughtful moment, begins to unbutton his shirt. Onerous, button by button, twist by slow twist. The rain was heavy and his coat soaked through - his shirt had fared none better. He exhales hard when he lifts the wet material from his shoulders and the air brushes goosebumps over his skin.

  
He lets it fall and eyes the glass with some longing.

  
His hands fall next to the buckle of his belt.

  
A hard warmth crowds against his back. Two arms wind around his waist, and a stubble roughened cheek rasps against his.

  
“Let me,” Nero murmurs as his hands slide over the buckle straps.

  
Angelo closes his eyes, leans his head back against the strong curve of his neck. He hums low in his throat as Nero continues the work of undressing him with gentle hands.

  
“Nero,” he says, wearily, half-asleep already despite the cold. He tastes the word, holds it between his lips. “Nero.”

  
A low chuckle behind him. “You’re tired, Avilio.”

  
He hums his consent and half turns, draping himself like a clinging monkey over Nero. His hands wind over Nero’s shoulders and pull his unresistant frame downward. He stays there a moment, forehead to forehead, breathing in the scent that has become so familiar.

  
“Nero,” he breathes out against his mouth.

  
Nero’s hands move from his waist. One curls around his hip, bracketing it with strong fingers. The other reaches for the glass on the table.

  
“What are we drinking to?” Nero asks, eyes gleaming in the dull candle-light.

  
Avilio buries his face into his chest. “I’m going to drink both,” he says, quietly. “And then you’re going to fuck me.”

  
A sharp exhalation brushes hot hair above his ear.

  
Those arms wind tighter around him. Nero is mostly a forgiving man, but this is one time too many even for him.

  
“You’re too soft, _cucciolo_ ,” Nero chides softly. “What was it this time?” He knows that some days, Angelo comes back empty eyed and drinks. Not to forget but to sleep. It puzzles him how his little fighter _inamorato_ can have such a vulnerable side when he is but cold eyes and sharp edges most days.

  
Angelo refuses to meet Nero’s entreating gaze. “A man,” he says instead, stubbornly. “He begged me for his life. Told me he had three children and a wife wasting away. The money he said he took for them. And I said, no excuses. I said this because _our_  Arturo gave his life for this money and so I killed him. I killed him.” He repeats it gently to himself, contemplative, yet far away at the same time. “You understand Nero?”

  
Nero draws back, expression closing off. “It’s for the good of the family,” he says stiffly. This is an old argument between them, one that has never been excised. It festers in the dark, weeping sores in open confrontation and ignored to sleep in the dark in between their frequent fights.

  
Conflicted, Angelo can only think of the man begging, thinks how he would have done anything for his father to be alive, but Arturo, Arturo-

  
“Come to bed,” Nero murmurs, reclaiming his position and folding Angelo into his arms. “Ssh, Avilio, you think too loud and too long.” He brushes a hand over his cheek.

  
“I don’t like it,” Angelo refutes. “I could have let him live. But then I-”

  
“If you did that,” Nero says, dangerously soft, “If you did, you know I would have no choice then but to-”

  
“Treat me as a traitor?” There’s an ugly smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, I have been told. Many times. What does it matter? I will die one day, like a dog for its master.”

  
“You will not.” Nero smiles, slow; a possessive heat in his dark eyes. “Not without my permission. You are mine, Avilio. And you will do as you are told. You are soft, but you know to be cruel. I will teach you where you must be cruel to be kind. A necessity,” his voice drops a register, persuasive, cajoling. “To live as we live. A strength needed to keep our family together. And us together.”

  
Angelo swallows. He can’t remember a day he hasn’t heard this speech, said in so many other words. It’s indoctrination, he realizes dimly, has known forever maybe, but it’s working. It’s turning him into something. Something bad. God his parents wouldn’t recognize him anymore.

  
Angelo sighs. He steps back and tosses off both glasses defiantly. “Take me to bed,” he orders, eyes glittering, mouth twisting contemptuously. “Will you make me forget then, Nero? To live as you want me too?”

  
In response Nero tugs hard, pulls him into a brutally soft kiss. “I would like nothing better,” he agrees, all his teeth showing.

  
The realization comes to Angelo when it’s too late.

  
He’s inside me, he thinks, belatedly, when they’re in bed together, and Nero is steadily chipping away at his ability to keep his cries muted. He’s inside me and it’s literal. Nero is inside him: they’re joined together so intimately it can’t be physically possible to refute it and yet. And yet-

  
He’s inside me, Angelo thinks again. A cold sweat takes over him, makes him shiver, and causes Nero to pepper the side of his throat with kisses . God help me, he thinks in horror.

  
“ _Non posso vivere senza te_ ,” he chokes, wonderingly, at the man hovering above him, so deeply entrenched in his life he shudders at the thought of tearing him from his breast. _I cannot live without you._ You are inside me, he thinks numbly. I went too far. God save my soul.

  
Nero smiles, presses a gentle kiss to his brow. “ _Ti amo tanto_ ,” he breathes.

  
_I love you so much._  


**Author's Note:**

> Do tell me if there's anything specifically you'd like to see. I have my plans but if you have anything to put in, it'll be for a good cause. ;) Next up is possibly the fall-out from Corteo's death. Let's see if it pans out.
> 
> Cucciolo: Little puppy; pet. Inamorato: used to refer to a person's male lover. 
> 
> Rest are translated immediately after in English in italics.
> 
> Posting every Sunday!


End file.
